


Amateur Photography (The Voyeuristic Love Affair Remix)

by navaan



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Early Days, Hero Worship, M/M, One-Sided Attraction (or is it?), Pre-New 52, Remix, Stalker Tim Drake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-12 13:10:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15995900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: Tim starts his voyeuristic love affair with a camera. It doesn't end when he no longer hides behind the lens.





	Amateur Photography (The Voyeuristic Love Affair Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iesika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iesika/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Snap](https://archiveofourown.org/works/571744) by [iesika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iesika/pseuds/iesika). 



> Written as remix of the wonderful [Snap](https://archiveofourown.org/works/571744) by [iesika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iesika/pseuds/iesika) for Remix Revival 2018.

When Tim starts his voyeuristic love affair, he's just a boy who has just been given a new expensive toy: a camera. 

Even at that age, he understands that his parents encourage his hobbies to make sure he doesn't feel lonely. But he feels lonely because the same supportive parents are traveling a lot for business, but they love him. They adore him and he never lacks their parental love and adoration. Recently he's ventured into photography because he found his dad's old camera and taking snapshots in the garden was a nice past time when he was alone. 

Snap. Snap. Snap.

His mother loves the pictures he takes of roses in her beloved garden. She thinks he has a talent worth developing into skill. That's why one day he holds his first own camera, new and shiny.

* * *

Tim starts his voyeuristic love affair by accident perhaps. 

He takes the new camera to the circus. Because what's a lonely boy to do when a circus is in town? Of course, he goes. Of course, he takes his camera and promises to show his mother all the pictures of the show later, because mom and dad aren't there.

And he does show them the pictures later.

Pictures of animals: elephants and monkeys, horses and trained cats. 

Pictures of people: laughing kids with popcorn, sweets and sticky fingers and excited smiles; clowns with heavily painted faces, some bright and happy, some sad and just a little scary; men in top hats and ladies in shimmery costumes.

It makes for a colorful kaleidoscope of memories.

All of the pictures are snapshots of moments made with the untrained hand of the youthful photographer. He doesn't have the eye yet. He's still learning everything he needs to know about focus and shutter speed. But his mother oohs and ahs at every photo and story he tells of it; and with every picture he shows her, he remembers why this moment had seemed important, why this act had been thrilling and this face seemed so interesting.

"These are amazing," his mom tells him with real awe and shining eyes. 

They're a little too dark and just a little out of focus, but he had tried to capture the motion, the moment, the exhilaration. Sometimes he hadn't watched to the camera's viewer because he'd been afraid to miss it and then regretted that he hadn't tried to capture the moment forever.

"The Flying Graysons," he explains and his throat is dry, as he lets his eyes glide over the family - father, mother, son - waving at them from the picture. 

The son has dark hair like Tim and blue eyes like his mother and already he's the owner of a blinding showman smile that Tim recognizes as charming, noteworthy, captivating. None of the pictures of the act capture the agility, the grace, the artistic beauty of the aerial acrobatics.

"Oh, I heard of them!" his mom exclaims and ruffles his hair. 

At that moment, critically studying the pictures, Tim thinks the need to go and see them again is born from the need to perfect his art. He wants to capture this on film - the passion, grace, and beauty. 

Only later he will realize it's the beginning of a love affair.

His first crush isn't photography - it's Richard Grayson.

And it's a harmless thing, because he's young, and only a spectator who watches from the crowd and capture moments here and there. Dick Grayson won't ever know he exists, but Tim will always remember him, making new memories and taking new pictures every few months or so when he finds he time to catch up with the circus somewhere.

* * *

The end of the flying Graysons comes to them in Gotham City in the most gruesome way possible; for a while, the papers are full of the story, the details of the murder case, the Batman's involvement, the fate of the now orphaned son.

Tim doesn't lose interest in photography, yet. There are no more Haley's circus shows for him to travel to though.

It's not the end of his crush and not of his voyeuristic love affair either.

Suddenly he's another kind of spectator; now he's the neighbor's kid who catches glimpses of Dick running around the vast mansion's front lawn. 

Snap, snap, snap, the shutter goes - and he adds new pictures to his secret wall of captured moments. Dick Grayson playing ball with Bruce Wayne; Dick Grayson showing off his acrobatic skills on the lawn; Dick Grayson, now dressed like a rich man's son waiting for the car to pick him up for a gala. 

There are new facets to Tim's crush: flashy performance gets overlayed by the reality of sadness, joy, and carefreeness mixed with the obligations of the same kind of life Tim's living.

He wonders how a circus kid deals with it, wonders for the first time what he could say to Dick Grayson to become part of his world. Before the stolen moments had been dreams, far away; now he knows he and Dick could meet if Tim wanted to take the risk of disappointment. Because what would the older boy wants with an awkward spectator like Tim.

And then - with the first picture of Robin captured by a lucky photographer of the Gotham Gazette that finds its way into Tim's hands - his interest in photography changes. Hs observation skills have grown and he has studied every move, every graceful routine, has about twenty-three good pictures of the real Dick Grayson smile. They all match.

All of them are also Robin's.

The observer becomes the investigator when Dick Grayson moves away to uni and leaves Bruce Wayne's home to find his own way - and with him, the bright, easy presence of Batman's partner also vanishes from Gotham.

Nightwing steps unto the superhero scene not much later.

A poster of the Flying Grayson's is the only picture of them that Tim ever dared hang up in his room; the others were his secret treasures, kept to tide him over, to take out and trace with his eyes, to memorize when he was alone and not sure when he'd get to see the acrobat again. He lies on his bed to study it: the blue, the yellow, the style of their costumes. It's all there in the Nightwing suit.

Dick is still a flying Grayson even though he's moved on to another life entirely.

* * *

Tim misses the reassuring weight of the camera in his hands sometimes, the excuse it gave him to watch and stare. He remembers how comforting it was to hold it up and wait for the right moment to capture and know that he could freeze Dick in the moment of perfect grace, soaring like a flying eagle and put it in his treasure trove and _keep it_. His brain's still wired to see them: snap, snap, snap, and there it is; the moment that makes a picture in his mind and makes his mouth go dry with anticipation.

Even now his finger twitches involuntarily.

No movement escapes him.

But he doesn't need the camera anymore to have an excuse to watch closely. He's no longer an observant bystander. He's Robin. He's a detective. Bruce has _told_ him to observe _everything_ , let no detail escape him.

He likes to watch when Dick and Bruce go through katas together, when Dick trains on the rings or the horse, sometimes when he goes through stretches and warm-up exercises.

Dick never says anything and Tim is careful not to let him notice too often.

Right now, he doesn't look away even for a second as Dick's strong hands move over the pommel horse with the confidence that comes with practice, propelling his legs over the side to begin a counterclockwise swing. Dick's bare-chested, giving Tim a perfect view of his abs. The air is thick with the smell of chalk and sweat but Dick always makes it look effortless and easy. His coordination and speed are incredible but even when his expression is tight with concentration there's the air of exuberant enjoyment around him.

Tim's eyes are drawn to the muscles in Dick's shoulders and the way his taught stomach clenches under the thin fabric of his training suit that's also a light blue. With the trained eye of the photographer he waits for the moment when Dick ends the swing by pulling himself into a perfect handstand, his arms, back and leg forming a perfect line while his feet point at the cave's dark ceiling - a pillar of strength and beauty that then curls back into an agile human form as Dick pushes himself into a somersault and dismounts, coming to a stand with his arms outstretched as if he's ready to bow to his audience.

There's only Tim though and Dick hasn't seen him yet.

He crosses over to where he left his towel, dusts chalk from his hands before he picks it up and rubs himself down. 

_Snap, snap, snap_ , Tim thinks and commits all the untaken pictures to memory. 

Finally, Dick turns, sipping water from a small plastic bottle. "Tim, what's up? Been standing there long?" And with the same grace he shows on the horse or when he swings himself over the rooftops of Gotham, he's beside Tim, toweling his hair and throwing an arm around his shoulder.

Tim pretends to grimace as his sweaty state, earning himself a warm, rumbling laugh and not even the hint of discomfort, and secretly revels in the touch. He can be so close now. Touch, smell, joke and banter.

 _Always_ , he thinks in the privacy of his own mind and yet shakes his head. A myriad of more appropriate and less truthful answers swirl through his head. Tim folds his arms in front of his chest and says with a grin: "Just for a bit. You know, Bruce wouldn't have liked the flashy dismount. He thinks you need to focus."

With mirth, Dick's eyes sparkle like sapphires. "Ah, he would," Dick says and laughs, full and rich, his normal laugh and, yet it's all for Tim in this moment.

He doesn't need the camera to remember it, to keep it in his trove of treasures. He carries it in his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me for fic updates on [tumblr](https://navaanwrites.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/navaanwrites). This fic has a post on the tumblr [here](https://navaanwrites.tumblr.com/post/178603290519/amateur-photography-the-voyeuristic-love-affair) in case you want to share it. It also has a page on my [Dreamwidth](https://navaan.dreamwidth.org/620830.html).


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